Give me soul shaking nature, eyes open sure in Her cure...
Bless our herbs, Spark our wands, Show the Sword in hidden pond...


Kū Kiaʻi Mauna Kea: Hawaiian Heaven vs American Empire


Defending Mauna Kea: Hawaiian Heaven v$ the American Empire

 Mauna Kea needs a lawyer. Most sacred mountain of Native Hawaiian and Earth-spirit cultures, under siege by industrial developers and military domination, seeks an educated legal representative before the World Court of opinion. And UNESCO. Also, a PR agency would be excellent, to break the media silence in America.

 The history of Hawai'i in the last century has been largely a matter of what invading and occupying interests could "get away with." Under the threat of force by the military American state, industrialist families "overthrew" the Hawaiian Kingdom and imprisoned their Queen, which allowed for a white-controlled Republic to become the 50th State of the USA. All the while land was bought and sold, military bases and bombing ranges expanded, foreign populations flooded in, and America looked the other way, embroiled in their own foreign wars of occupation.

 If American media would simply show the truth of what has taken place here in the Hawaiian islands, to Native Hawaiian culture and people, the devastation of the land, hell, simply show what building a modern "telescope" on a pristine volcanic landscape looks like... the nation would rise up in shock and protest. But the don't see the bombing and destruction of Kaho'olawe, most sacred navigation beacon in the heart of the islands, they know absolutely nothing of the gigantic bombing range between the two largest and most sacred volcanoes on Earth, "Pohakuloa Training Area"... in the most endangered bird habitat in the USA.

 So while Native Hawaiian leaders and cultural practitioners confront a vast governmental-industrial cultural empire seeking to build the largest telescope yet, the 13-story TMT project on their most sacred heavenly mountain, US media ignores and looks the other way to more important stories, like Donald Trump running for a Presidential election more than a year away. While the most dramatic First Nation cultural clash in recent years takes place in the most cinematic locations in "Paradise", America pretends it doesn't know anything about Hawai'i, once again.

 Maybe this appeal from an academic scholar could break through "cognitive dissonance"?

Sacred Mountain - Mauna Kea, Hawaii

When I say “Mauna Kea” is sacred, I do not mean to use “sacred” the way most people use that term. I mean “sacred” not in the same sense of worship. I use “sacred” in the sense of “precious” and “so important that nothing else counts”—I apply it to those things and people that we care so much about that we would do anything, even flout and break the law, to preserve their existence.

The child of a parent, especially a young child is “sacred” in this sense. So are parents to their children. So are grandparents. Even the family pet is “sacred.” If your house was burning down would you risk your life to go into the burning house to rescue your children, your mother, your grandparents, even your beloved dog or cat? Would you go even if forbidden by first responders, firemen or policemen? Yes, many of us would go without hesitation–without thinking of the consequences. Would you give a kidney to save or extend the life of your child, your brother, your uncle? Would you spend all of your money to save a loved one from cancer? from Lou Gehrig’s disease or from a life in prison without parole? Yes, we all would.

Moreover, we praise such emotions and desires of others who make such sacrifices every day. We understand the soldier who sacrifices himself by instinctively jumping on a grenade. We understand the parent or grandparent who gives all their money to see their child or grandchild through college.

Whether one worships Mauna Kea or not, whether one considers it “sacred” does not matter as much as understanding the instincts that drive those to defend and save Mauna Kea—much as one would understand the absolute love for a child, or a parent even if such acts break the law.

When we see the instinct of family, of brotherhood, of sisterhood of love for mankind in others we celebrate that—we gravitate to that. We love and defend Mauna Kea because it reminds us what makes us human. Sacred is not necessarily a place. It is a relationship, a deep visceral relationship: beyond reason, beyond law, beyond rationality.

Mahalo and Mahalo Ke Akua.
Williamson Chang
Professor of Law

This millennium has uncovered new understandings of what has happened in Hawai‘i. As Dr. Sai states, “In 2001, the Permanent Court of Arbitration at The Hague, acknowledged that, ‘in the nineteenth century the Hawaiian Kingdom existed as an independent State recognized as such by the United States of America, the United Kingdom and various other States.’”

However, the US continues its illegal occupation, abuse of human rights and desecration of sacred lands. Te Wharepora hou have maintained their stance of solidarity with native Hawaiian peoples who presently struggle for the continued protection of Mauna a Wakea. Dr. Lee-Penehira advises, “Protectors of Mauna a Wakea have been occupying the sacred ancestral mountain on the island of Hawai‘i for over 100 days now, to prevent the construction of the world’s largest telescope; the planned Thirty Metre Telescope (TMT) project.

This is a direct attack on the physical, spiritual and cultural integrity of the maunga and the wellbeing of the Hawaiian People and the generations to come. Dr. Sai and I will be joining other supporters of Mauna a Wakea in a dawn ceremony of solidarity on Saturday morning here in Auckland.”

It is time, as Dr. Sai states, for the world to understand “the violation of human rights and war crimes that continue to take place on a grand scale whilst hidden under a cloak of deception and lies. These abuses are now coming to the forefront”.

 "Majority populations, cognizant of outside pressure and knowing that they should not resort to mass murder, have turned instead to cultural genocide as a “second best” politically determined substitute for physical genocide."

" Ethnocide means that an ethnic group is denied the right to enjoy, develop and transmit its own culture and its own language, whether collectively or individually. This involves an extreme form of massive violation of human rights and, in particular, the right of ethnic groups to respect for their cultural identity."


Incorrigibly Cunning Conscience in the Cosmic Garden

"Somos su mala conciencia"

Si seguro es lo que quieres en tu comunidad cuidado con lo que compra

elegir propietarios e-res reales en busca de una chispa en el ojo

esto supone que haya escogido su país y nación de la lealtad

a menos yer un anarquista salvaje creer en yer propia Royalty

Responda a las preguntas como si la construcción de un nuevo Stonehenge

junto inspirar conspirar construcción de un puente

generaciones que abarcan pasan secretos comprensión rimas

con Amor para todos los niños de todo el mundo para todos los tiempos

La plantación de árboles es un gran lugar para hacer un soporte

Árbol del Mundo teje dentro de sus raíces en su tierra

fertilizar con los gusanos de sus pensamientos conchas de identidad

convirtiéndose en vivo para nuestra Tierra permite vivir verdaderamente sentientemente

Comunidad sin conciencia es único negocio o conocido

intimidad viene con la creencia y la verdad en la confianza y la trascendencia

construcción de puentes con el cuidado de las fundaciones y ríos caudalosos

conexión de futuros con posibilidades tejidas con aljabas sueño

"In every outthrust headland, every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth." ~ Rachel Carson

Ancient Beauty Way vs. spillt Wargods

Ég trúi á Goddess. Goddess hefur aldrei brugðist mér, aldrei yfirgefið mig, jafnvel á kaldasta, mest auðn nótt. Goddess hefur rembingskoss mig um, eins og nýfætt barn eða drukkinn fífl. Hún er jörðin fæðingu frá þessum helgu fjöllum á brún Galaxy. Hún er fullkomin form náttúrunnar með mýkt, styrk, kynþokkafullur, vitur og forn.

Við trúi ekki á skegg Guð sekt og refsingu. Það er að segja, karl-Dominator guðir stríð, hefnd, harðstjórn og Supremacy. The bólfestu og drepa goð, fótbolta og Confessional guðir. Gods of vampíru sérstrúarsöfnuðum drekka blóð, sem fórnar saklaus verur, blása upp mannfjöldi af fólki. Gods of Hellfire flugskeyti og lofttegundir eitur, fangabúðum og neðanjarðar bækistöðvar. Gods of GI Joe, Terminator, eða tölvuleikur stjórna huga. Menn eru á þessum tíma rísa upp yfir gamla enslavements, karlkyns clubbing sálir sínar til undirgefni og nauðungarvinnu. Hlusta, Earthling-- hvað trúir þú? Löngu kominn tími á að "fá Real."

Við trúum á að ljúka umbreytingu mannkynsins. Við trúum á konum fæðingu þegar þeir velja. Við trúum á berum náttúrunni sem fullkominn listgreinin, skapaður af Guði og Goddess til dýrðar jarðar. Þess vegna teljum við í Mary Jane, og já, teljum við í Beyoncé, að sjálfsögðu, og við trúum á Pussy Riot, og Venus í lífgefandi brjóst. Við trúum á Móður Ocean okkar, lifandi, töfrum orku af fjöllum, brýst eldar eldfjöll, og vissulega Björk. Við trúum á Lady Gaga, Jennifer Lawrence og Fröken Magazine. Við trúum á erótíkin, Renaissance fegurð, geirvörturnar og loðinn húð í sólinni. Goddess okkar er alltaf til staðar til að kyssa særðum anda okkar, og að lýsa annað fallegur dagur á plánetunni jörð.

Doctrinam erroresque et delectare

Cum movit Amor, sicut Tempestatem

verrens vos in Somnium

Et de ore ejus verbum formam deae

crescant in maestitia fantastic gleam

Habetis quin et miror consociare amant ramis?

aut remigas contra aestus lovestream

resistere millions sidera et abscondere in nocte?

Pro dulci sumet amentia ut a mundi reformandam

hominem ducere animam de bello fuga

Splendor eius ut credamus nostre lacum

dato a magicis vibrante lumine

idem amor provocat omnis ratio et forma

cum eius pulchritudo et voce tibi totum jus

cadent in solem dico et amplecti Tempestatem

"If you have ever been called defiant, incorrigible, forward, cunning, insurgent, unruly, or rebellious, you're on the right track. If you have never been called these things, there is yet time." ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes


Mockingbirds and Miracles: Awakening the Planet

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered 

I'm wild again! Beguiled again! A simpering, whimpering child again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.
Couldn't sleep And wouldn't sleep Until I could sleep where I shouldn't sleep
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.
Lost my heart but what of it? My mistake I agree.
He's a laugh, but I love it Because the laugh's on me.
A pill he is But still he is All mine and I'll keep him until he is
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered like me.

Seen a lot I mean a lot! But now I'm like sweet seventeen a lot.
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.
I'll sing to him Each spring to him And worship the trousers that cling to him
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.
When he talks He is seeking Words to get off his chest.
Horizontally speaking, He's at his very best.
Vexed again, Perplexed again, Thank God I can be over-sexed again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.

Sweet again, Petite again, And on my proverbial seat again. 
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered am I. 
What am I? Half shot am I. To think that he loves me, So hot am I. 
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered am I.
Though at first we said, "No, sird." Now we're two little dears.
You might say we are closer Than Roebuck is to Sears
I'm dumb again And numb again, A rich, ready, ripe little plum again.
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I.

the Beautiful, the Peculiar, and the True

In an age of decaying reason 
at the ragged edges of science
on the outer limits of art
orbits the Alchemist Extraordinaire

Master of the mindfield
wizard of wordplay
poet of the improbable
Prophet of the PolyMorphic

Explorer of the strangest edges
"Culture a collective act of paranoia,
a whistling past the graveyard,
a tale told by an idiot...."
Psychedelic Crazymaker

"We're all going down with Capt. Nemo
and his burning-eyed crew"
cries our hallucinogenic hero 
our prince of potency
Explorer between Earth and Eschaton

Planetary mindweb, psilocybin DreamTime
an ancient all powerful biological Magick
cracking through sidewalks of cities
awakening our feral family of the future
Gaia our Mother in this Archaic Revival

Aesthetic ecological professor of mysticism
pointing out this pathetic political nightmare
now can we move beyond ideology
over their toxic repressive razor wire? 
Revolutionary raging Wizard of Weird

May Gaia live in the Garden of your soul
Ho'omana'o Aloha Nui Ya 'Oe
we'll meet you soon at the End of Time

Thus Spake the Mockingbird 

The mockingbird says, Hallelujah, coreopsis, I make the day
     bright, I wake the night-blooming jasmine. I am 
the duodecimo of desperate love, the hocus-pocus passion
     flower of delirious retribution. You never saw such a bird,
such a triage of blood and feathers, tongues and bone. 

O the world is a sad address, bitterness melting the tongues of babies,
breasts full of accidental milk, but I can teach the flowers to grow,
     take their tight buds, unfurl them like flags in the morning heat,
fat banners of scent, flat platters of riot on the emerald scene.

     I am the green god of pine trees, conducting the music
of rustling needle through a harp of wind. I am the heart of men,
     the wild bird that drives their sex, forges their engines,
jimmies their shattered locks in the dark flare where midnight slinks.

     I am the careless minx in the skirts of women, the bright moon
caressing their hair, the sharp words pouring from their beautiful mouths
     in board rooms, on bar stools, in big city laundrettes. I am
Lester Young's sidewinding sax, sending that Pony Express
     message out west in the Marconi tube hidden in every torso
tied tight in the corset of do and don't, high and low, yes and no. 

I am the radio, first god of the twentieth century, broadcasting
the news, the blues, the death counts, the mothers wailing
     when everyone's gone home. 

I am sweeping the Eustachian tube of the great plains, transmitting
     through every ear of corn, shimmying down the spine
of every Bible-thumping banker and bureaucrat, relaying the anointed
     word of the shimmering world. Every dirty foot that walks
the broken streets moves on my wings. 

I speak from the golden screens. Hear the roar of my discord murdering the trees, screaming its furious rag. The fuselage of my revival-tent brag. Open
     your windows, slip on your castanets. 

I am the flamenco in the heel of desire. I am the dancer. I am the choir. Hear my wild throat crowd the exploding sky. 
O I can make a noise.

~ Barbara Hamby, "Babel"

Planet of Miracles

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods....

Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;

These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

~ Walt Whitman

Piranha Love

Le plaisir est au trésor

De racines de feelgood freudienne

pour les mains moites de frustration

une nation de l'homme traumatisme apprivoisés

tortille inconfortablement dans ses vêtements

Peau tendre caché de contact

terriblement civilisée encore sauvagement seul

secrètement trempé dans le désir collante

suintant odeur humide de sauvage en cage

Terrifiés dans un coin polie de finesse

repousser les élingues de la société

peur de malaise de la maladie et sleaze

tenant ensemble dans la zone de guerre

Les femmes connaissant le bord brutale

blessures de l'usure à tâtons et violant

monde des hommes un milieu de méfiance

egos meurtris émoussée et maladroit

Nu nation de singes donc enchaîné

en squelettes de doute de soi

le sang de liaison de la peau caché

passion gonflement dans un blush

Animaux pleurs de se libérer

cogner sur les côtes et les portes

noyade dans les piscines de déni

éjacule dans nuits saintes

Au bord de la chatouillement de l'âme

trouver un bouton secret magique

déverrouiller le plaisir parfait:

"Crème votre palpiter-bouton?"

Venir à une révolution

proche et chère à vous!

Les projections de renverser crachant

Plus portes de la répression

Despierta el Planeta

No hay tiempo para que el niño espera

escuchar el zumbido y el zumbido

cada fibra viviente canta

nacido para este día con alegría

de un mar de miedo carnosa

convertido en héroe del mañana

rodeada por una feroz deseo

los ojos llenos de ficciones salvajes

agacharse ahora en una realidad

clamar a despertar a otros

sabiendo el planeta está vivo

Ahora hacemos lo que debemos

nuestros cuerpos no son los nuestros

nuestras mentes son millones más

nuestras manos son ahora planetaria

voces que se levanta sobre nuestro mundo

somos la paz orado por

despiertos para convertirse en el salvador

"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."
~ Crowfoot


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